Of Periwinkles and Forget-Me-Nots
by HollyVanDerBerg
Summary: In which Lysander is like a bee, attracted to the sweetest flowers. One shot. LysanderxRose, LysanderxLily Luna & LysanderxMollyII.


Periwinkles and Forget-me-nots

A Molly/Lysander fic

**I wrote this years ago and didn't want to post it at the time(I'm still not sure I want to either). It's full of mistakes so bear with me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything, JK Rowling does. I also used a quote by ****Wassily Kandinsky.  
**

When Lysander was younger, he would help his mother in the garden. He would assist her in choosing the most beautiful flowers, from lilies to daisies, passing by pansies and wallflowers. He would spent endless hours trying to find the perfect spot in order for the flowers to grow beautifully.

In the summer, he would sit at the far left corner under a weeping willow in the Scamander's backyard. Multiple sheets of parchemin would be lying on his laps as he would, with a quill, draw the beautiful flowers. No details were forgotten, from the smallest cut into the stem of a tulip to the slightly curved thorns of the peach roses.

His twin brother Lorcan would tease him about it. ''Flowers are for _girls_ '' he would say. He soon found out Lysander didn't care about what he had to say and so Lorcan stopped bothering his brother all together.

It wasn't until his departure to Hogwarts that Lysander started to worry about the Fate of his precious flowers and other varieties of plants. _Who would take care of them? Who would plant new ones? Would they put the lilies next to the trees or next to the house?_ His mother promised to take care of them. It's with a mix of relief and longing that Lysander set foot in the Hogwarts Express. Life had finally turned _bittersweet_.

After the sorting, he ended up sitting at a table that reminded him greatly of those blue Delphiniums he had at home, at the far right corner of the garden.

Herbology became his favorite class, of course. ''You have a gift'' the teacher, Professor Longbottom, an old family friend, had once told him during a class in second year. Ly had only shrugged and shifted back his gaze on his _Abyssinian shrivelfig_.

Fourth year came around and Lysander fell for a Rose. She was beautiful, _too_ beautiful. Her lips were the rich color of an orange rose and her eyes reminded him of blue carnations. She smelled like summer and walked like spring, reminding him of those Anthuriums. She was passion and enthusiam in a nutshell. She would paint her nails yellow, like yellow daffodils, and it would clash horribly with her skin tone, but Lysander wouldn't have had it any other way. But, unfortunately, Roses had thorns and it was soon time for him to give her away to someone who would take better care of her. But everytime he heard ''_Orange is red brought nearer to humanity by yellow." _, he would think of her and the Gryffindor she was.

It was nearing Christmas: he was in his fifth year. A beautiful Lily, with her eyes the rich color of brown Calla Lilies, looked at him and placed a kiss on his lips. She smelled like lilies-of-the-valley and he, of jasmine: it was the perfect match. But as spring flew away, Lilies turned into Tiger Lilies and, soon enough, he learned she was pride and jealousy when she saw him talk with Pansies and Lavenders. That's how he gave away the second flower.

His meeting with the third flower was purely coincidential. She was sitting on the grass, near the Black Lake, on a particularly sunny April day. Her long maze of ginger hair- not quite the shade of any flower he ever came upon- hid her face as she read a book. A dark pink daisy was placed in her hair. He got a couple of feet closer so he would see the title '_ Herbology: The Power of Flowers_' by Pomona Sprout.

He slowly, as not to startle her, sat next to her. '' You like flowers too?'' he asked. She turned around in one swift motion but didn't raise her head. She looked pretty- not beautiful like a Rose or delicate like a Lily, but _pretty _nonetheless. Her lips were of a perfect pink color, like pink hibiscus. Her skin was pale, almost like jasmines. He recognized her as being Molly, a fellow Ravenclaw. She was a year or so younger than him- perhaps a fifth year if he was not mistaken.

'' You should see my garden.'' she whispered, raising her head. When blue periwinkles met two forget-me-nots, he smiled. He always had a soft spot for blue flowers, especially periwinkles.

'' You should see _my_ backyard.'' he responded. She let out a small chuckle.

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur as did the rest of the year. They promised to see each other over the summer to see the other's backyard. While Lysander's garden was organized colors and smell, Molly's was arranged in a way that Lysander had never thought of. Yellow rested next to pink, daisies next to peonies. The sight was breathtaking. They spent endless afternoons together, him, drawing the different flowers; her, resting her head on his left shoulder.

Years came and passed and the third flower bloomed. Pretty turned into beautiful and beautiful, into magnificent. And, one day, she walked up to him in a white, like camellias-the flowers of promises-, dress, holding a bouquet of hydrangea in her hands. At this moment, he couldn't help but think that his flower would never fade. His flower was the most precious of them all and he would take care of her until the day she died.

**Reviews are always welcomed.**


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